


Atlas

by Fallowfield



Category: Devilman (Anime & Manga), Devilman Crybaby - Fandom
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-10
Updated: 2018-07-10
Packaged: 2019-06-08 11:24:57
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,880
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15242331
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fallowfield/pseuds/Fallowfield
Summary: The moonlight always turns to sunshine again.





	Atlas

**Author's Note:**

  * For [brunch](https://archiveofourown.org/users/brunch/gifts).



The embers flared and the air spiraled upward like it would swallow them into the sky. The clouds obscured the stars, and only the moon appeared, flickering. A pair of tremendous shadows clashed for the final time, and with an earsplitting screech, the combat ceased. The silence rang like a sudden alarm, heavy and oppressive. 

Finally the demon threw his head back and laughed miserably, his face twisting and ruthless. “If you can’t make it here, imagine being in hell.” But as the adrenaline of the battle ebbed, his voice grew strained and shaky. He stood over his prey, drenched in golden blood. The fatigue rushed to his shoulders with the weight of iron shackles, and his body buckled to the side. More than exertion or pain, his secret was a hidden anxiety. Still dripping, even from his mouth and claws, he rushed back to the catalyst.

Ryo remained where Akira had laid him down moments before, off to the side in a bank of grass. Akira had roared, furious, at having to leave him, but the demon kept advancing until Akira led it away. But now, Ryo lay, almost peacefully, his eyes shut as if he slept. But Akira only saw the deep, oozing gashes across his throat. His gushing head wound. His twisted arm. His shotgun’s barrel, split and mangled. The demon’s touch grew tender. He lifted him with the pads of his hands and settled him against his chest. But Ryo’s eyes did not open, even as a stream of golden blood dripped across his face. The red blood kept flowing, pooling in the bend of Akira’s arm and tumbling to the ground.

The demon howled and clenched his fists, straining with rage but still gentle with his treasure. He couldn’t stop. He was furious at the swift strike, the lack of time. How Ryo hadn’t told him where he’d gone. He carried on, unable to stop.

Ryo, nestled in the rumbling of his throat, opened his eyes. He shut them again, relishing the moment and the pleasure of being avenged. But he could feel the toll of Akira’s outbursts. How the fatigue was coursing through him. So, through the dizziness of blood loss, he lifted his hand. “Tch...tch. Akira…” he brushed his fingers over his chin, where the golden blood had already grown sticky. Akira turned his face to him, the momentum of his rage gradually slowing. A tear glistened down his cheek. Ryo gingerly slid his hands up to cup the demon’s face in his hands. “Shhhh…” he set his forehead against Akira’s.

Akira still hummed loudly, more tears falling, but he bent and began to blot Ryo’s head. He could see the dizzy haze in his eyes. Ryo could settle in his arms, though the panic and anger still pulsed through Akira, and Ryo could feel it.

Ryo smirked, his eyes flattening in the way they did when he was boasting. There was his usual ghost of a chuckle. “He barely got me, Akira.” Though his voice was somewhat reedy, revealing that he was in pain. Akira could see that his eyes still spun with vertigo, but the soft touch to his face began to quiet the adrenaline. Ryo ran his fingers over the demon’s fearsome jaw, admiring his fangs. The golden blood dripped onto him, but he ignored it. “Tch….You kicked up such a fuss. You know I almost had him.” His smile had grown wider, and he looked intently into Akira’s eyes. “You can obliterate them like it’s nothing. He had no chance.” He teasingly traced the demon’s lips with his finger, never breaking eye contact.

The process was slow, but the frenzy grew stale and tapered away. The demon folded back into himself, but still held Ryo steady, taking his time. He wrapped his shirt around his head and carried him home. It was somewhat of a ritual now. He knew Ryo was exhausted. Through his performance he could see how pale he was. 

Rather selfishly, Akira dreaded what came next. He remembered times in the past where he returned him home injured, then Ryo usually didn’t let him visit for several days. It was likely just a need for rest that a demon didn’t require, but it could be that Ryo wanted to hide his fragility. Regardless, it made Akira agitated. There was no waiting for him to appear at school, just the mindless boredom as if it were back when demons didn’t exist. He would lean back in his desk and bang his head against the wall.

But today by the time he reached Ryo’s door, Ryo had slumped against his chest, unconscious. The sun was beginning to spread its beams over the rooftops but lacked the strength to chase away the last chill of the night. Akira just walked down the middle of the street, wishing he could take his time. It was his favorite part of the day. They were absolutely alone here, even surrounded by buildings. The moon still triumphed over the sun. But he clutched the shirt to Ryo’s head nervously. Ryo didn’t stir, even against Akira’s footsteps. Damn. Maybe he lost more blood than Akira thought. If he tucked in his chin, Akira could rest his face in his hair. Idiot. But he didn’t lift up his head. 

The door opened, revealing Jenny’s silent stare. When she saw the state Ryo was in, she turned to find her sutures. It was never a surprise, especially if he’d been gone all night. Not that Akira had ever seen her affected much by anything. Rather than turning Akira away as usual, however, she led him inside. He carried Ryo up the stairs under her gaze, hyperaware of the solitude stripped away from them like wallpaper, now clinical like a hospital waiting room. Though he knew she was better at first aid, she always made Akira uneasy, especially when Ryo wasn’t around. He laid Ryo on the bed and stepped back, but it felt like he was ripping himself apart from a great force. So he paced.

Ryo’s house was strange. Without Ryo’s light to fill it, it grew intense and cavernous. It was rare for Akira ever to be here alone. Even at night, Akira woke to Ryo either already awake or waking along with him. Everything was pristinely white, with only texture differences to break the homogeneity. He felt large and out of place. Off-color, like he was leaving fingerprints on everything. The golden blood dried dull and sticky down his face and neck, his hair tacky and stiff. He wandered to the bathroom and stared at the human in the mirror, with his sharp, strengthened features. The fang that rested on his lip when he was agitated. He washed his face and hands, having to scrub to fully free himself from the blood. His skin flared pink in response. When he finally scrubbed away the violence, he felt like a stray dog, hair dripping, possibly even more out of place here. He wrapped one of Ryo’s towels around his shoulders.

Jenny was gone. Akira sighed in relief. Ryo lay limply, head and neck patched up, almost too perfectly, like he could arrange flowers around him. Akira tried his best not to disturb him as he climbed into the bed, facing him and resting his arm over his chest. He felt like a dog again, a whimper rising in his throat. He didn’t like this, Ryo looking like a corpse, with his face almost as pale as the sheets. The movement of his chest was so slight. He wanted to shake him. Wake up!! But Akira just stared at his face. He couldn’t help it. Ryo’s typical frown had relaxed. Akira realized he’d rarely, if ever, seen him asleep. He was so peaceful, lying here are the beams of sunlight began to fall on him. He could see his blond eyelashes, delicate feathers folding from his eyelids. The tiny vessels in his lips. The bruise over his brow. An image painted so lovingly by a human who’d been blinded by the sight of divinity, a halo around his head. How can people look so peaceful here on earth, especially when they’re sleeping, when they’re most exposed?

Akira laid his face close to Ryo’s. It seemed rudely intimate for him to be here. In a way he was frustrated. The most intimate moments are often apart from each other. He still had to wait, but there were no distractions. But the horrible wondering was absent. He reached up gently and combed Ryo’s hair with his fingers. Red blood. It clotted less gracefully than the golden blood, in great clumps, heavy with oxygen. The golden blood always seemed to come in flat sheets, off a glass pane, where the red blood came in turbulent cascades, river rapids. Akira tamed the blond locks he could reach as best he could, so gently. It was so strange to be so aware of Ryo’s blood. His skin was so pale today he could see the networks of veins beneath it, some so close to Akira’s fingertips as he ran his fingers down Ryo’s temples, his throat, his arms, his hands. He’d touched him before, but he’d never had this chill to his skin, never been so still. He was always so warm and vital and full of adrenaline.

But Akira sighed. He wished Ryo was awake. There was always an empty pit in his stomach when Ryo wasn’t with him. Where did he go when he was unconscious? Akira wanted to be there too. He didn’t like the thought of Ryo alone. He was strange, but Akira wanted to protect him. He still pulsed with anger at the thought of how Ryo was so exposed today, there all alone. It wasn’t that he doubted him, it was that he knew he wouldn’t hold back. Like a demon. Sometimes it seemed like Ryo was more of a demon than Akira was. But here was the red blood. Was it only humans who had red blood? Did God have red blood?

Akira blinked several times, his face turning red. Since when did he go off into long monologues? Demons were supposed to be cut and dry. “Good grief, Ryo. Always so dramatic. Wake up.” His whimper came back, bubbling out of his mouth. He flicked Ryo’s cheek with the same hand. “It’s boring here.” And honestly, an ache was burrowing into his chest. These last few weeks he hadn’t seen Ryo enough to be satisfied. Ryo had been rather distracted. It was typical, but bothered Akira all the same.

“....‘Kira.” Ryo’s eyes cracked open, brilliant blue but the red blood crawled across them, spidery ink. He blinked and looked over at his boy, the image of the great triumphant demon still projected into his eyes. But it was just Akira lying beside him, stretching into a yawn. Ryo returned to earth again. Akira smiled and shut his amber eyes, pulling Ryo towards him. There was no more gratifying revenge or pulsing anger. Damn. But instead there was an eerie, lingering comfort, alien to him but was perhaps better. Maybe it didn’t have to be a chorus of trumpeting angels or the shrieks of hell to make Ryo feel warm inside.


End file.
